


And Then, Silence

by Poplitealqueen



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: I'm not saying it will happen but it could, M/M, Only included what was necessary, Qui-Gon Lives, Qui-Gon has PTSD that he isn't dealing with because emotions give him a frighten, Sith Obi-Wan, but don't be surprised if you see like...Dooku making out with Artoo in the background somewhere, important relationships that feed into the story, there are other relationships that I won't tag because I'm trying to be minimalistic, wow i sure did great with these minimalistic tags huh?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: Qui-Gon gets kicked, Obi-Wan races ahead and then "dies". Years later, during the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan comes back.A nice testament to the things small prompts on Tumblr can inspire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Olorisstra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olorisstra/gifts).



> Some prologue: so a few days ago, I snorted awake from a particularly restful depression nap with the powerful urge to write something. I decided to ask Tumblr to send me prompts, since I thought _"I'm sure I'll just write something short"_. Enter [jhaernyl (whom this fic is gifted to, check out her work)](https://jhaernyl.tumblr.com/) from stage left with a prompt that caught my eye immediately. _Do a Reverse Frisson AU,_ it read more or less, _where Qui-Gon survives and Obi-Wan doesn't, but then Obi-Wan comes back from the dead as a Sith._
> 
> This fic decided to quickly deviate from Frisson, and then grow. And grow. And grow and grow and grow. Next thing I knew, I was almost 20k words in and still going strong with fanart and people wanting more.
> 
> It's funny how things go like that sometimes.
> 
> I'll be updating weekly.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Miss Pop

“We are definitely getting too old for this.”

Mace Windu made a wheezing sound in response that could have possibly been a chuckle before it ended in a low, pained groan as Qui-Gon sent a rush of Force healing into the younger master’s left side. Flesh began to knit itself back together beneath his hands, plasma burns closed with the faintest of sizzles, and fractured bones set themselves with an audible snapping crack that even the clone doctor on the other side of the bivouac could hear, since he grimaced in sympathy before turning back to his own patient. Altogether, the procedure took about five minutes. When Qui-Gon was done, he stepped away from the gurney to give him room and Mace sat up with a slight glaze over his eyes as he surveyed the new map of scars along his arm, shoulder, and torso. He tested the response time of his hand by opening and closing the fingers a few times, and seemed pleased enough with the result that he was already pulling on the new tunics Qui-Gon offered him as he spoke.

“I’m not disagreeing in the slightest,” he said with a wince as his clothing brushed a still-tender area along the bottom of his ribcage. “This war makes me _miss_ the Yinchorri.”

“Don’t say that, they might just announce that Yinchorr has sided with the Separatists, then what shall we do?”

Mace’s entire body slumped forward, exhaustion emanating from him like heat from star. “If that happens, I’m joining Dooku.”

“Make sure to say hello for me.”

Mace leaned back up and smiled sourly. He had yet to pull his tunics tight, and a v of dark skin stretched down to just above his belly button, giving him a disheveled look that Qui-Gon was sure would scandalize any of the younger members of the Order. He could only imagine the look on Anakin’s face if he saw, and the thought caused an unasked for tremor to shake along the bond with his former Padawan. As was always the case, Anakin responded quickly, if a bit more harried than usual. Qui-Gon could all but see his smile. _I’m in a bit of firefight at the moment, Qui-Gon. Please don’t send me images of a half-naked Mace Windu._

Qui-Gon couldn’t even admonish him over that. He _had_ sent them after all, so he wished Anakin luck ( _and be careful, former Padawan mine_ ) instead and focused back on Mace. He really did hope his face wasn’t red.

“I’ll give him your regards,” Mace continued with a raised eyebrow at Qui-Gon’s expression, “though you know he’ll probably task me with convincing you to join the Dark Side--”

“--like he has with every other new apprentice of his. Believe me, I’m fully aware. I have the scars to prove it and everything.” Qui-Gon finished for him, before holding out a hand. “Can you stand?”

“Guess it’s time to find out,” Mace replied, and clasped Qui-Gon’s hand with one of his. He braced himself on the edge of the gurney with the other and pushed himself slowly to his feet. His legs wobbled at first, but held, and after a moment he pulled his hand away from Qui-Gon’s, resting it lightly on his shoulder. A few minutes after that, and he was walking around the bivouac on his own. Mace immediately made his way over to the other patient.

“How are we doing, Ponds?” Mace asked the clone stretched out across the gurney. Qui-Gon wasn’t the only one to catch the unusual amount of gentleness in his words, if the subtle look he shared with his assistant (a relatively new clone named Kix) was any indication, but neither of them said a word.

“Only a...little sore, sir.” Ponds responded without moving. He was covered in all the bacta patches they’d been able to scrounge up on such short notice, but even with those and Qui-Gon’s emergency healing, Qui-Gon had still recommended that he be transferred to a starship with a proper bacta tank as soon as possible. “I’ll be ready to fight again soon.”

Mace glanced at Qui-Gon as if asking permission, and Qui-Gon responded with a subtle Go Ahead I Won’t Tell wave of his hand. Kix made himself appear busy with a datapad walked to a different area of the bivouac politely, while Qui-Gon turned away just as he saw Mace pressing a kiss to the injured clone’s forehead. He only caught, _“If you ever try something like that again…”_ before he was pushing aside the entrance flap to makeshift medical tent and walking outside.

Falleen was once a beautiful planet, of that Qui-Gon was sure. He could feel it in what few flora and fauna remained amid the seemingly endless amount of Separatist manufacturing facilities that now dotted the landscape like giant, smoke-spewing ticks. The Living Force did not lie, and it never died, either, even when what represented it perished. It was a part of everything, even death, but that only made it all the more difficult to deal with in a place like this. Since arriving on this planet, Qui-Gon had been experiencing dark visions while he slept, of blood and pain. Flames roaring up, licking at his skin, catching at his clothing, eating away at him until he was nothing but ash and memory.

He’d also dreamt of red. A red face face turning to red hair turning to red blood turning to red flame and consuming him whole.

He knew exactly who he was seeing, but he did not know why. Why would Falleen remind him of him of that moment of failure from so many years ago? What was the Force trying to tell him?

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, then inhaled, then exhaled again. The strange air tickled his throat and nostrils in an uncomfortable way, but he repeated the process twenty more times until his heart rate slowed and he could focus on _that man_ without succumbing to a panic attack. He also carefully blocked his connection to Anakin. One could never be too careful.

He was given a single second of something that did not make sense, of layers of red upon red and two golden eyes. Qui-Gon thought they must represent Maul, who else but the Sith he had fought and defeated all those years ago? But the moment he thought that, his connection to the Force ached like skin rubbed raw and a sense of  _wrong wrong wrong_ flooded it until he felt his breath catch. What was wrong about it? What did he not understand?

Red and golden eyes.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The name **_burned._ **

Suddenly, the sense of distance Qui-Gon had given himself spun out of control, and he was back _there._ Back on Naboo, back in that forest of bridges and electron gates, back at the edge of the melting pit.

 _It’s been over ten years, you are no longer there,_ he assured himself uselessly as the details of the plasma refinery complex came into focus in his mind’s eye, so perfect it was like he was there.

 _You are no longer there,_ he repeated again when Obi-Wan’s face flashed before him.  A child, a comrade, a corpse.

 _You are no longer there, you are no longer there, you are no longer there,_ he repeated as he felt his Padawan die in his mind and his arms again and again and again and--

“Qui-Gon.”

His eyes snapped open, the memory ended, the vision tucked itself away, and Qui-Gon turned to Mace with a curious look on his face.

Mace looked him up and down, concern pressing his brows together. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” The lie slipped out far too easily, so Qui-Gon followed it with a crumb of truth. “Something is terribly wrong about this planet.”

Mace stared at him a little longer, and then sighed. “You’ve been feeling it too, then?”

Qui-Gon nodded, glad to have the attention off of himself. “The Force is trying to warn us of something. Have you alerted Master Yoda?”

“I have.” Mace frowned at nothing. “But he hasn’t experienced any visions, and there are no records of Sith activity in the history of Falleen, so I doubt it’s a hidden temple we don’t know about. Have you had any visions?”

“None that I can interpret. They may just be nightmares.”

Mace hummed, unconvinced. “It’s never nightmares with us, Qui-Gon. What did you see?”

Qui-Gon considered lying. It would be easy and he was quite convincing, but he had a feeling Mace would see right through it. He decided truth was the wisest course, or most of the truth, at least. He was not going to say the name, though. He couldn’t. Not right now.

“I’ve seen red, and two golden eyes,” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have no idea what it’s supposed to mean, but I haven’t had a proper sleep cycle in weeks because of it.”

“I know who that sounds like. Do you?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said grimly. “I don’t need a reminder, please.”

“Maul is dead, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon glared sidelong at the smaller man. “I am aware of that. I was the one that killed him, after all.”

Mace met his gaze with a cool calm that made no small part of Qui-Gon want to smack him. The sheer anger in the thought surprised him, slightly, though Mace had a habit of digging into the heart of things with the tenacity of an especially irritating exogorth.

Mace broke off the eye contact first, and focused across their small encampment (aside from the bivouac, there was a handful of hurriedly-made defense structures manned by a small contingent of Mace and Qui-Gon’s legions. The rest were off in the thick of battle, headed by Anakin and his new Padawan) into the middle distance.

“Believe it or not, Maul was not who I was referring to,” Mace said offhandedly, “but it’s good to know that still bothers you. You should talk about it.”

“Remember earlier when you said you’d rather join Dooku than deal with the Yinchorri again?” Qui-Gon asked pointedly. “Naboo is my Yinchorri.”

“Touchy,” Mace grumbled.

“I’ve heard that’s what the T in PTSD stands for,”Qui-Gon replied. “Now, may we please drop it. I promise as soon as we’re not in the middle of a battlefield and I’ve had at least three day cycles of sleep, we’ll get drunk and tell each other about everything that has ever hurt us.”

That earned him an almost-smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Would you like to tell me who my vision reminded you of now, or was that simply a quip?”

Mace’s almost-smile fell back into a frown. “I believe Dooku may have acquired another apprentice.”

Qui-Gon’s stomach plummeted to his knees, followed by his heart and his lungs. Everything suddenly felt far too heavy inside him, like gravity had decided that it wanted to drag him into this planet’s core. “Oh,” was his witty response. “And what’s the name of this one?”

“I don’t know.” Mace shook his head, as if trying to shake out an unpleasant memory. “They didn’t say much while they mowed down more than half of the 187th and nearly killed me.”

That did absolutely nothing to abate the sinking feeling filling Qui-Gon’s entire body.

“What did they look like?” he asked, fearing the answer without knowing why.

“I don’t know,” Mace said, with an apologetic expression. “They had a mask on, voice modulator, red armor, a red lightsaber. I caught a glimpse of golden eyes when I slashed through part their mask during our duel, but...” Mace shook his head again. “This one’s a monster, Qui-Gon. I’m lucky to be alive.”

“What did they want?” _‘Didn’t say much’_ wasn’t the same as _‘didn’t say anything’_ , even though most of Qui-Gon hoped that this new tool of Dooku’s was the mute type. That made dealing with them easier, but if what they were after could be discovered, then a way to defeat them could be devised far more quickly.

For the first time since starting this discussion, Mace didn’t respond. His mouth was set in a thin, hard line.  Qui-Gon had to repeat the question again, already dreading it.

“What did they want, Mace?”

Mace didn’t look at him when he answered, but Qui-Gon saw his hand tighten around the lightsaber at his belt.

“You,” he said. “They told me they’re here to kill you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger? Danger is Qui-Gon's middle name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. Hope your day is going good!
> 
> Sorry about the long wait between updates. Without going into too many details, a bit of unnecessary drama happened shortly after I begun posting this and unfortunately it led to me coming just short of abandoning and deleting this fic altogether. However, I waited, I deliberated, and after a time I decided that no drama is worth deleting something I worked hard on.
> 
> So, I'm not. This fic will continue, and it is gonna be hella badass. Thank you for your patience, and for reading. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -Miss Pop

_They said they’re here for you._

Qui-Gon mulled over those words for far longer than he needed to, because, in all honesty, he was far from surprised. Ever since their first encounter at the start of the war, it appeared that a seemingly endless onslaught of would-be Sith attempting to kill him had become Qui-Gon’s  norm. Dooku was apparently convinced the only way he could accept a new apprentice was if they defeated his old one (which included death or kidnapping, whichever they almost-Sith in question happened to be good at), and the mere thought that his existence was being used as a tool to encourage such darkness sent a wave of anger cresting through Qui-Gon’s mind, one that he unfortunately did not do a proper job of shrouding in the Force.

Silently, Mace took the opportunity to secure the final clasp of his tunic, running his hands down his front and tugging at the bottom hem, but Qui-Gon could tell by the stiffness of his movements that he had sensed everything. It was only when he was done that he spoke again. “I’ve just pissed you off.” It wasn’t a question.

Qui-Gon uncrossed his arms and tapped the fingers of one hand along the familiar length of the lightsaber at his hip. He didn’t look at Mace, or the clones milling around their encampment, or even at the bruise-colored sky high above them. He simply looked at nothing, eyes half-lidded.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said smoothly. “I was already in a foul mood to begin with.”

“This isn’t going to lead to you doing anything stupid?”

Qui-Gon smirked. “Me? A stupid decision? When have I ever?”

The joke didn’t reach Mace, whose frown had become a permanent fixture on his face since the moment he’d begun talking about Dooku’s new killing machine. “I’ll be sure to console myself with that information when you run off to try and take this assassin down yourself.”

Qui-Gon bristled, smirk falling away. “I didn’t realize your opinion of me had deteriorated that much, Master Windu,” he said, focusing back on Mace as the other man took a few steps ahead of him. Mace was now blocking his path until their discussion was complete, immovable.

“You know I’m right,” Mace said.

“In a certain sense of the word,” Qui-Gon replied. “But if the assassin is here because of me, they’re my responsibility. I shall take care of them as I have all the others.” He made to step forward and around Mace, but was stopped by a firm hand against his chest. He didn’t attempt to plow his way through -- it wasn’t as if he’d had a destination in mind to begin with outside of _‘Get away from the caring friend’._

“There was something different about this one, Qui-Gon,” Mace said in a low voice. “Promise me you won’t go near them without me with you.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t they almost kill you?”

“In a certain sense of the word,” Mace mimicked sarcastically. “Although that simply means I’ll know what to expect when we inevitably run into them again. You do have a habit of attracting danger.”

Mace lowered his hand, a gesture meant to show that he was done making sure Qui-Gon listened to him, for the moment, at least. He turned around and Qui-Gon fell in step beside him. Qui-Gon wasn’t sure where Mace was taking them, but he was getting them there in a hurry.

“Do not mistake me for my former Padawan. I do not attract danger.”

“Where do you think Skywalker learned to do it so well?” Mace asked as they arrived in front of what could only be the command tent. It stood higher and wider than the bivouac Qui-Gon had been working in since dawn, when Mace and most of his soldiers had been brought in half-alive and in need of immediate attention. Qui-Gon couldn’t help but be impressed at how quickly and efficiently it had been erected while he had been busy, but quick and efficient was his commander in a nutshell. Speaking of…

The tent flap was pushed open from the inside, and a helmet with golden trimmings popped out before Qui-Gon could formulate a proper rebuttal to Mace’s Anakin Skywalker comment. It was quickly followed by a fully armored body that gave both Mace and Qui-Gon a clean salute.

“General Windu. General Jinn. I’m glad you’re here,” Cody said without pausing for a breath. “We’ve gotten a transmission from General Skywalker. He appears to be in danger.”

Qui-Gon smiled at his commander. “Thank you, Cody,” he said as the clone retreated back into the tent. He didn’t lose his smile and he didn’t look at Mace when he continued with a curt, “Not a word, Windu.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” Mace replied as he walked inside behind Qui-Gon.

The interior of the tent was brimming with clones and hastily-constructed hardware. Qui-Gon made his way to the center of the room, where a holotable had been erected, and came to stop just at the edge of it He rested his hands on the cool metallic brim, and nodded at Cody to continue.

Cody nodded back. “We received this transmission about ten minutes ago. There was interference with the transmission, we think the Seps might have a jammer of some sort. She wasn’t able to see or hear us,” he said, activating the table.  Top of the table lit up with a pale blue light, and shortly after a young Togruta materialized into existence above it, the colors of her skin, clothes, and lekku dulled into different shades of blue. She wiped the back of one hand across her mouth, smearing blue blood and dirt away from her lips, and she was crouching low behind something. Her lightsaber was lit and held before, and every few seconds the blade twitched as she deflected blaster bolt after blaster bolt.

“This is Comman- _kzzzzt_ Tano. I don’t know if anyone reads me, but we have trouble,” she said, her voice betraying just the slightest hint of worry, yet she did an admirable job of hiding it. It still left Qui-Gon gripping the edge of the table. His Grand-padawan was many things, but easily shaken was not one of them.  “Reinforcements for the droids showed up, they-- _kzzzt_ ” the recording jumped forward. Now Ahsoka was standing, looking to her left before whipping her head back down to the holocommunicator on her wrist. _“Is anyone receiving me? Please respond!”_ she snapped at it, before flipping backwards to narrowly avoid a trio of battle droids. She made quick of them with her lightsabers, and landed perfectly on her feet. “There’s someone with the droid. _Kzzzzzzt._ In red clothes and a mask, they’re-- _kzzzzzt --lightsaber._ General Skywalker is defending, but he can’t keep it going. _We need help._ ” Something got her attention just out of range of the hologram, and her eyes grew wide and her lips moved back to reveal sharp teeth. “MASTER!” she shouted, and as she bounded forward, lightsabers crossed in front of her, the recording abruptly ended.

Qui-Gon’s knuckles had gone white from how tightly he held the edge of the table. He released his grip and stepped back, composing himself.

“Where was this?” he asked, calmly.

“Qui-Gon--” Mace began, but Qui-Gon ignored him, putting his attention fully on his commander.

“Where, Cody?” he asked again.

“Three klicks to the north-east,” the clone responded. “Sir, we don’t know the situation there. Are we mounting a rescue op?”

Mace opened his eyes a little wider at Cody, surprised at his candidness, but Qui-Gon was simply grateful.

“We are. I’ll take a speeder and go on ahead. I’ll let you know if the numbers are too great for our forces,” Qui-Gon ordered, reaching over his shoulders to pull his hood over his head. “Do not approach until you receive my all clear, understood?”

“Yessir!” Cody bellowed, snapping into a salute.

Qui-Gon glanced on his other side towards Mace, who looked about ready to throttle him. “That goes for you as well, Master Windu. If anything happens to me, my forces are yours. Don’t throw them away on a suicide mission, would you?”

Mace sighed, irritated. “I'm going with you.”

"No, you aren't," replied Qui-Gon, and to Mace's sour expression, he added, "If Anakin and Ahsoka have been captured or killed, that leaves the two of us to command the forces left on the planet. If we both go, and we both die? Worst case scenario, chaos. Best case scenario, a nasty court-martial when we return home."

Mace narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring, but Qui-Gon could sense that he was coming around, barely. "I don't like this."

“You don’t need to like it. You simply have to trust me,” Qui-Gon said, with a sardonic smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are tentatively going to be every Monday from now until I finish this fic. If I don't show, and you desperately need an update to live through the winter (or summer, if you're down in the lovely Southern Hemisphere), just come poke me over on Tumblr. I'm can be a bit forgetful!


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